MEMORIALS

Between the impresario and the diva,

the vibrato and libretto,

In Living Color and the shadows in the cave.

Between elevators and air planes,

parrots and improvisations,                          

births and strokes.

Between drones and slurs,

stairs and wharves,

graffitied benches and tombstone epitaphs.

Between match sticks and wicks,

the silence and the listening,

goodbyes and hellos.

Between the vodka and the lime,

mustard and sardines,

the sleeplessness and the dreaming.

Between vacancies to choose from

and clutter to sift thru,

a day of intentions

and the lazy vines not finding their bean poles,

marches against Monsanto 

and remembering dead soldiers.

Between the Almond Roca

and anything else,

let’s not forget what the body already knows:         

love turns us into verbs.

PRACTICE

Not only that.

You’ll need a lasso

to catch it,

a hitch to harness it.

Then…

a carriage for hauling,

the cargo to carry,

a country as wild as Wyoming --

that is, if you’re a wrangler

and can match the beast’s will

with your own,

hoof for hoof.

 

 

IDIOMS IN THE AFTERNOON

You could be anywhere:

a pizza parlor, a tiki lounge.

Better yet, let’s make it a graveyard. 

A picnic. 

Fish tacos and chardonnay

among tombstones.

In passing

someone in your posse says:

…perish the thought.

Wait, what?

What kind of thought would it have to be

to invoke its own death?

One you really didn’t want to think?

One that would kill a part of you, perhaps?

Perish the thought!

A seagull dive-bombs a hawk overhead.

What if perish were parish instead?

What if the thought was infused with a life

that deserved its own cultivation,

its own church, priest and congregation?

What then?

Suddenly, the sculpted presence

of an eavesdropping angel

catches your attention.

She, like you, is caught in contemplation,

atop her tombstone,

with eyes lifted from the book she’s been reading

for a very long time…

What idiom, what grave curiosity

has captured her imagination, you wonder?

 

DISPERSION

 like seeds

            a scattering

borne by

what seems

is

               an invisible hand

a wind
words

like these
meant

for another

                                              blow back

at us

echo

as something we need
to hear

and harvest

ourselves.